Sunday, February 21, 2010

As Katherine noted recently, Oscar has discovered his vertical side. He has not only done the top of her bookshelf, but also my bookshelf, the top of the living room entertainment center and the upstairs hall railing.

There are two slight problems with this new found dimension, especially with the hall railing.

The hall railing was (and is) a favorite vertical escape route from Oscar for the Catzillas, because while no higher than the kitchen counter (a common visit for all three boys), Oscar didn't go up there. Now its utility is lessened, because while Oscar doesn't actively pursue up there, he will visit.

The second problem is that ... well, Oscar is a clutz. Almost every time I've seen him on the railing, a load bearing paw will slip off to the side once as he strolls or turns, and only four paw drive saves him (no claws needed). I swear I've seen him slip more times in a month than I have seen the Catzillas slip in the nearly three years we've lived in the Kitten Farm West. I don't know why Oscar doesn't know where his paws are, but I hope it's youth and lack of practice more than a lack of Spider-cat genes. I also hope he doesn't fall off completely -- an unexpected six foot drop to the stairs, even with them carpeted, would not be fun.

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Oscar just charged into my office, ran up the cat tower to the top of my bookshelf -- in which he has shown no previous interest -- and ran across the bookshelf to the corner. He then knocked an umbrella off the second shelf, ran back down to the floor, sniffed at the umbrella once, and left. He is now stretched out at the top of the stairs.

Billy and Whitey didn't seem to hear the instructions from Great Basement Cat, but clearly Oscar did. Or something.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Every cat we have owned served as valets for found one or more methods to announce it is, in his or her opinion, meal time. All the boys meow.

Emily had the hop on Katherine's desk,

Whitey has the current evening desk visit duty and the morning (occasional) death from above,

Billy has the cavalry charge downstairs to dinner, along with supervising in the kitchen looking very interested in whatever is being prepared for any species,

Oscar has the cavalry charge upstairs, and has recently developed the morning visit to me in bed, which turns into a gentle request to cuddle him.

But none of these match the show Oscar puts on if he thinks he has your attention in the upstairs hall. It starts with his happy trot into the library where he's fed. If you appear to follow, his routine morphs into a full twirl with a purring chirp, and climaxes in an ecstatic cat rolling on the floor as he awaits feeding.

Unfortunately, he can't tell time worth beans. He'll do this before breakfast, an hour after breakfast, and basically all through the day. It gets him petted, but not fed.